Lessons from Taro’s Cooking Class

 

Preparing dashi in Taro's kitchen

After 2 months of shuffling around our local grocery store, squinting at our phones deciphering google translate images of unfamiliar cellophane wrapped foods – is it dried squid or burdock? Chili pepper paste or fermented eel? Pieces of salmon or salmon ovaries filled with roe? – and being generally mystified by the way native shoppers confidently drop (tiny) bags of enoki mushrooms, slabs of fried tofu, glass noodles, sweet potatoes, and scallions into their (tiny) shopping carts, we have finally (drumroll please…) cracked the code of Japanese home cooking!

Okay, so maybe we’re not ready to open up an izakaya (little restaurant) in Durham just yet, but after an afternoon of cooking with Taro and his wife Yoshiko in their Kyoto home yesterday, we can see the forest for the trees, the light at the end of the tunnel, the grain of rice at the bottom of the bowl. 

If only we’d learned these basics 2 months ago when we first arrived, we could have saved ourselves the frustration of trying to recreate many of our favorite meals  - which rely mainly on olive oil, garlic, and high temperature roasting in an oven (which we, along with most Japanese homes, do not have) – and embraced the beautiful simplicity of Japanese cooking. Sure, we eat a lot more rice and fish here than we usually do in NH, but the secrets of flavorful food without a lot of aromatics, spice, and oil have remained a mystery – until now.  

Lessons on Cooking and Life in Japan

Taro reminded us frequently that he is just a regular home cook, not a trained chef or expert in fancy Japanese cuisine.  He used to work as a hotel manager and when foreign tourism started taking off in Japan about 15 years ago, he realized there weren’t a lot of excursion options for visitors beyond going to Kyoto’s many shrines and temples. He started inviting people to his house to learn about Japanese home cooking and culture, and the Haru Cooking School was born. 

The four of us spent almost 5 hours around a table in Taro and Yoshiko’s kitchen along with 3 other guests: Joel (pronounced Yo-el -- originally from Italy, now a chef in a Spanish restaurant in Copenhagen, Zeynep (originally from Turkey, now living in Germany), and Marcel (Zeynep’s partner).  We prepared a variety of simple dishes together, sharing responsibilities for chopping, stirring, and flipping. Mostly we talked - about food and culinary tools and preparation techniques yes, but also about Japanese history, philosophy, culture, and psychology. 

Taro and Yoshiko's beautifully compact and functional kitchen

We loved spending time with Taro and Yoshiko. Zadi and Bo both proclaimed it their favorite thing since we’ve been in Japan! Taro is so open and generous with his perspectives and so willing to answer questions (“I’m going to be honest here,” he would often say in response, acknowledging that isn’t necessarily the norm here). We learned so much. Here’s a bit of wisdom about food and life in Japan that we gleaned during our time around Taro’s table. 

1. Rice is the main food group. The rest is just seasoning.  

Taro insisted multiple times that Japanese people are, in their essence, practical. They have learned from their ancestors that vegetable crops can fail, fruit can rot, pigs and chickens might die before you can eat them…but as long as you have rice, you’ll survive. If the rice crop is wiped out, half the village dies. For this reason, rice is everything.

The price of rice has doubled in the last few years (heat waves and increased tourism seem to be to blame – I’m so sorry!), and that has put a huge financial strain on families. That’s because Japanese people usually eat rice 3 times a day. Fresh for breakfast (ready with the help of a rice cooker at 6:30AM with a bit of leftover vegetable and fish or meat from dinner the night before), again for lunch in a bento box (or in a bowl with more leftovers), and made again fresh for dinner. Taro says that the question he asks himself when shopping and deciding what to cook is a simple one: “How do I want to eat rice today?” 

The workhorse of every Japanese kitchen: the rice cooker

2. Leaving even one uneaten grain of rice in your bowl is supremely disrespectful. 

Manners and politeness are a big deal here, and we often feel like toddlers trying (unsuccessfully) to learn all the rules. Taro’s take is that most Japanese people are fairly forgiving of foreigners who don’t know proper table manners (how to use chopsticks, where to put them after a meal, how to avoid touching food with their hands, how to get by without napkins, etc.) … but not eating all your food, especially rice, is something for which only babies are forgiven. Leaving rice in your bowl disrespects not only the cooks but all of the people who helped to grow and process the rice, not to mention the water and soil that nurtured the plants, and the sacred rice itself. 

Taro taught us to continually scrape our rice bowls with our chopstick to avoid errant grains getting cemented to the side and becoming a disgrace to humanity. We also learned we should never add other food to our rice, but rather to take a bite of veggie, meat, or pickle, followed by a bite of rice so that the flavors mix in the mouth, not the bowl. This requires a level of hashi (chopstick) dexterity that I still struggle with, the nearly 50-year-old toddler that I am. 

3. Dashi is the garlic and olive oil of Japanese cooking. 

If rice is the most important food group, dashi is the flavor foundation. Water is heated (not even to a simmer) for 20 minutes with kombu (a thick seaweed), strained, brought to a boil and then stirred with handfuls (actual handfuls) of bonito flakes (dried and shaved skipjack tuna), and then strained again. This sea-flavored broth is what makes Japanese cooking distinctive. Whereas much of what we think of as Japanese (food, art, language, religion, etc.) originally came from elsewhere (usually China a long, long time ago), dashi embodies the unique essence of its island geography. It is the flavor and aroma you can’t really put a finger on until you are explicitly introduced to it, as we finally were.

Dashi is the basis for most soups, sauces, and other dishes you’ll find in Japan. Miso soup? Just dashi with some miso (and cubed silken tofu and scallion). Without the dashi, it’s just “miso water.” Udon? Dashi broth with some soy sauce and mirin. Tempura sauce? Dashi broth with more soy and mirin. Soba noodle sauce? Same. Vegetable side dishes? Most are simmered lightly in dashi.

Taro straining kombu from the dashi broth (the bonito flakes are in the container on the right)

While Taro and his family make their dashi from scratch everyday, he acknowledges that pre-made dashi powder is a completely acceptable and common substitute for modern families. Taro and Yoshiko make homemade dashi because they have the time and it’s less expensive than good quality dashi powder. If they ever found an inexpensive, high-quality powder that rivaled their homemade version (i.e. it was cheaper and tasted better or just as good), they’d have no problem using it. They are practical, not dogmatic, about their dashi (as with most other things in life). 

Zadi cooking omelet in a special rectangular omelette pan. Japanese omelette is a must-have addition to every bento box and is made with dashi (surprise!) to keep it moist along with some soy, and scallion. Flipping and folding several times with cooking chopsticks takes some practice! 

4. Soy sauce and miso are essentially salt in liquid and paste form. 

In addition to dashi, soy sauce (shoyu) and miso are the other basic ingredients that provide depth and complexity to food. They are of course salty, but they also have umami (the je ne sais quois flavor that isn’t sweet, salty, sour, or bitter) from the fermentation of soy with koji (the national mold of Japan) that you can’t get from just salt. Japanese children learn early on to use shoyu in moderation and to NEVER put it directly on rice because it gets absorbed quickly and you’ll end up eating too much of it.

Apparently, young men trying to avoid conscription into WWII would drink shoyu so that they would become very sick and would be spared going to war. Unfortunately, some of them got so sick they died. To avoid this terrible fate when eating sushi (and to not eat like a toddler), you turn it upside down and only dip the fish in the shoyu. Children are taught this from a young age here in Japan, but we didn’t learn it until today!

Bo stirring the miso into the dashi with extra large cooking chopsticks to make miso soup. The strainer helps break it up faster.

5. Beef is a special treat, not a regular part of the Japanese diet. 

According to Taro, beef was not popular in Japan until late in the 20th century. His parent’s generation rarely ate beef, his grandparents maybe never even tried it, and even he and his family only have it every couple of months or so on special occaisions. When they do eat it, it’s more as a topping for rice – either grilled in small pieces or thin shaved and cooked in a hot pot.

Cows weren’t common on the islands until Japan began its first wave of Western modernization with Emperor Meiji at the end of the 19th C. Given Japan’s geography (lots of mountains, relatively little agricultural land) and the primacy of rice, cattle production is still rare; and locally raised beef or Wagyu (think famous Kobe beef) is a luxury for most. You wouldn’t know this walking through the heart of Kyoto’s tourist neighborhoods, however, where every restaurant sign proclaims Wagyu ramen, Wagyu sushi, Wagyu burgers. I wouldn’t be surprised if somewhere there was a Wagyu / Matcha combination (matcha being another supposedly Japanese staple but is mostly sold to tourists while regular people instead drink the much cheaper Hojicha or Obancha – roasted stems and leaves of green tea – as their daily tea).  

Wagyu beef and its signature marble that makes you wonder: where's the beef?

Taro admits that even though we cook Wagyu beef dish in his class, it’s really just  marketing.  As Taro puts it, “People wouldn’t come if I called it a dashi cooking class, but that’s what it is! Wagyu is really nothing but an expensive rice condiment. Without rice to eat it with, the Wagyu is wasted.”

Not the biggest fan of beef in the world, I did enjoy my bites of Wagyu. Rather than a well-marbled beef, it’s more like marble with a tiny bit of beef. I’m actually not sure how the cows move around or even stand up with so little muscle and so much fat. How does that even work? Maybe they lie down all day on special (very sturdy) cow beds and are fed by hand. Maybe there are cow hammocks that support their weight? However it happens, I hope that they are happy and enjoy a life of luxury before ending up on our plates. Their meat tastes like bacon (in the very best possible way) and melts in your mouth. 

6. Japanese people care more about group harmony than justice, truth, or personal freedom.

Taro’s favorite topic, aside from food, is personal freedom and the tension around it in Japanese society. Because Japanese people value peace, order, and getting along so highly, individual desires, feelings, and ambitions tend to get squashed. Too much emotion equals chaos, and according to Taro, Japanese people don’t like chaos. Someone sitting on the side of the road? Chaos! Someone cutting in line at a store? Chaos! Someone eating in a public place where people aren’t supposed to eat? Chaos! Someone too excited, mad, or angry about something in public? Chaos! Exceptions to rules, even reasonable ones, threaten order; so it is the role of each individual to get with the program.

There are organized spaces for chaos – generally those involving alcohol and loud voices: izakayas, karaoke, and baseball games, for example, are all sanctioned places for letting off steam and being crazy. There’s even a place to go if you decide you want to be a criminal and exist outside the law: the yakuza (organized crime). In public spaces, only children are allowed to show strong emotion (even positive emotion). To be an adult means to have control of your emotion, to prioritize the harmony of the group over your own feelings. The culinary analogy Taro used is that Japanese food is “tasty enough” – could it be fattier, saltier, more indulgent, yummier? Sure…but that would not actually be healthy for your system. An unending chase of peak pleasure is not the point.

Taro assured us that this simple vegetable preparation of thin strips of burdock, carrot, and mustard greens with a little sesame and soy would't blow our minds but be "tasty enough"

Given that excess emotion/indulgence is a symptom of immaturity (and an agent of chaos), people learn how to lie and hide their feelings. One consequence of this is that many people aren’t actually close with those closest to them – maintaining marital harmony is more important than being honest with your spouse about something happening at home (or what you really think about the political party they support); maintaining a respectful relationship with your parents is more important than being honest with them about what you actually want to do with your life if it’s different from their expectations. As a result, people tend to hide who they really are from their friends and family (not that this is unfamiliar, even in our more emotionally permissive culture.) 

Taro says there is very little individual freedom in Japan, starting in elementary school when students are expected to follow group norms at a very early age – cleaning up the classroom, serving their classmates lunch, eating everything on their plates even when they don’t like it (he gives the example of not being able to go outside to play until he finished all his broccoli, which he hated).

As an outside observer, this prioritization of group norms and harmony makes for a very wonderful place to visit (and probably live, in many ways): the country is orderly, clean, safe; people are polite, helpful, considerate. But it surely comes at a price for individuals who may not fit in, for people who can’t be honest with their own friends or family members … Taro thinks that Japan could do with more freedom and flexibility, but in moderation. I think people in the US could do with a bit more consideration for the collective, and a little less bowing at the altar of personal freedom.

7. Most food (80-90%) is produced locally in Japan and people eat with the seasons.

It’s only recently that there are imported vegetables, meats, and even rice in Japan. People are generally mistrustful of foods produced elsewhere and as a result, are accustomed to eating with the seasons. Squid in the spring, crab in the fall. Root vegetables and squash in winter, garlic scapes and peas in the spring, greens and tomatoes in the summer.  Greenhouse production has become ubiquitous and helps to extend the season of most things. Nevertheless, seasonality is how many Japanese people incorporate variety into their diets of rice, rice, and more rice. 

According to Taro, “organic” in the sense of being grown without pesticides or chemical fertilizers, is not really thing aside from very niche stores. People have “high trust” that the government regulates the amount of chemicals and pesticides in a way that is safe for people and the environment, so there isn’t much demand for an alternative. Many people also maintain “high trust” relationships with farmers and support them directly. As a non-farmer, why in the world would he question the decisions of the people who know how to farm and whom he trusts?

In fact, the whole Community Supported Agriculture CSA model in the US was inspired by the Japanese movement of “teikei” – food with a farmer’s face – that began in the 1960’s when people organized buying groups to support farmers who were not contributing to environmental pollution. Taro buys his rice and veggies from a friend who has been farming for 15 generations. 

Burdock root, greens, (and later some carrot) are pretty much always available in the supermarket as a simple stir fried side dish. 

8. No one thinks tofu is a meat substitute in Japan. 

We eat a lot of firm or extra firm tofu at home. As far as we’re concerned, it’s a perfect meat-like protein, especially when marinated and roasted in the oven like salty cubes of not-quite-chicken. In Japan, however, tofu is eaten for its decidedly non-meaty texture. It’s either a pudding – silky soft and fresh – or fried up spongy and crisp. You can buy long, thin rectangles of pre-fried tofu at the supermarket, which you then slice and add to simmered vegetables (like soggy croutons, says Taro), or open like a pita pocket and fill with flavored rice (sushi inari), or grill in strips until crispy with a dollop of red miso on top (oishi – delicious).  

Like organic food, vegetarianism also isn’t really a thing in Japan. Taro attributes this to Shintoism, and once again Japanese people’s always practical nature. According to Shintoism, all things in nature are sacred: rocks, water, soil, plants, animals. A carrot is therefore no different from a chicken or pig, metaphysically speaking. Both animals and plants are valued equally for the roles they play in nature and in helping to keep people alive and healthy. For this reason, deciding not to eat meat because it is somehow more alive or special than a carrot makes no sense. 

Fried tofu you can buy in the supermarket refrigerator section

Even Buddhist monks, of which there are many here in Japan, don’t follow a strictly vegetarian diet, according to Taro. Food is for keeping you alive, and you eat what you are given, with gratitude. On a varied diet of animals and plants and (of course) rice, your ancestors lived long healthy lives, and so you do the same. 

9. Eating daikon (large, long white radish) everyday keeps the doctor away.

The daikon is Japan’s apple. If eaten every day, you get nutrients and fiber that you need to stay healthy. Fresh daikon is very spicy, a little bit stinky, and a bit labor-intensive to prepare. Taro therefore prefers dried daikon that has already been boiled and rinsed before being dried to remove the bitterness and sulfuric compounds. Dried daikon can be quickly and easily reconstituted in hot water, drained, and ready to add to simmered vegetable dishes, soups, stir fry, etc.  

Daikon isn’t necessarily the most delicious thing in the world, but like many foods in the Japanese diet, it’s good for you and “tasty enough” to eat every day. 

Ingredients for the aona to oage no taitan (simmered vegetables) in (you guessed it!) dashi. The package of dried burdock is on the left with the reconstituted bowl of daikon strips below. Also fried tofu, ginger, enoki mushrooms, and mustard greens. 

10. Eat with gratitude until 80% full. 

In our house, hungry children (I shall not name names) are often halfway done with their meal before I even sit down to the table after piling everyone's plates with food.  I love that they eat so rapturously and are (almost) always enthusiastic about whatever is on their plates. (As a little tot, Zadi was famous for exclaiming "This is the best thing I have ever eaten!" at almost every meal).  In Japan, however, (as in most civilized society), devouring your food like T-Rexs after a marathon is not exactly smiled upon. 

Traditionally, Japanese meals begin with everyone around the table putting their hands together in prayer position and with a slight bow of the head saying "Itadakimasu!" Sometimes translated as "Bon appetit!" the Japanese phrase goes a bit deeper than just encouraging people to enjoy their food and includes gratitude for all of the people, animals, plants, and natural elements that helped to make the meal possible. It is a compact form of grace that even we have managed to incorporate into our mealtime routine. When we say "itadakimasu" at restaurants, the cooks and servers (most of whom are close by - restaurants tend to be tiny) are delighted.  Children learn this in their families and it is reinforced during lunchtime in elementary school when the entire class says it together at the beginning of the meal. 

The eating until you are 80% full rule is easy to do when portions are reasonable (no MEGA GULP and SUPER SIZE options here, even at convenience stores and fast food restaurants) because NOT finishing all of your food is frowned upon (see #2 above). While there may be 5 or 6 different dishes at a meal, each one is no more than a few bites (except for that bowl of rice) and each served in its own beautiful dish. The visual presentation, and the variety of flavors, textures, and colors combine to make each meal a work of art to be savored and enjoyed. 

And though we desperately miss cheddar cheese (and peanut butter and beans and popcorn!), we are supremely grateful for all of the amazing food we've eaten and all that we've learned about Japan's culinary traditions. We can't promise Taro's kitchen level cuisine, but we are excited to share some home-cooked Japanese meals with you all when we get back! 

Our finished meal! Above: Kinpira (stir fried root vegetables), Dashimaki tamago (Japanese omelette), aona to oage no taitan (simmered vegetables), rice (50% shaved - meaning it's not quite white, not quite brown), grilled Wagyu beef, more veggies stir fried in beef fat, fried tofu grilled with a dollop of miso, seaweed pickle, daikon pickles, and miso soup. I realize I didn't really talk about pickles too much, though I'm a huge fan. Taro says they are just "rice seasoning".